She was soon to know.

She heard him rise.  She heard him saunter to the door.

“Thanks, yes.  Ha, ha, you’re too kind—­really—­yes—­very happy, you know.  To-morrow, is it?  Good-morning.”

And with these words he went out.

With pale face and staring eyes Ethel darted back to the window.  He did not see her.  His back was turned.  He mounted his horse and gayly cantered away.  For full five minutes Ethel stood,—­crouched in the shadow of the window, staring after him, with her dark eyes burning and glowing in the intensity of their gaze.  Then she turned away with a bewildered look.  Then she locked the door.  Then she flung herself upon the sofa, buried her head in her hands, and burst into a convulsive passion of tears.  Miserable, indeed, were the thoughts that came now to that poor stricken girl as she lay there prostrate.  She had waited long, and hoped fondly, and all her waiting and all her hope had been for this.  It was for this that she had been praying—­for this that she had so fondly cherished his memory.  He had come at last, and he had gone; but for her he had certainly shown nothing save an indifference as profound as it was inexplicable.

Ethel’s excuse for not appearing at the dinner-table was a severe headache.  Her friends insisted on seeing her and ministering to her sufferings.  Among other things, they tried to cheer her by telling her of Hawbury.  Lady Dalrymple was full of him.  She told all about his family, his income, his habits, and his mode of life.  She mentioned, with much satisfaction, that he had made inquiries after Minnie, and that she had promised to introduce him to her the next time he called.  Upon which he had laughingly insisted on calling the next day.  All of which led Lady Dalrymple to conclude that he had seen Minnie somewhere, and had fallen in love with her.

This was the pleasing strain of conversation into which the ladies were led off by Lady Dalrymple.  When I say the ladies, I mean Lady Dalrymple and Minnie.  Mrs. Willoughby said nothing, except once or twice when she endeavored to give a turn to the conversation, in which she was signally unsuccessful.  Lady Dalrymple and Minnie engaged in an animated argument over the interesting subject of Hawbury’s intentions, Minnie taking her stand on the ground of his indifference, the other maintaining the position that he was in love.  Minnie declared that she had never seen him.  Lady Dalrymple asserted her belief that he had seen her.  The latter also asserted that Hawbury would no doubt be a constant visitor, and gave Minnie very sound advice as to the best mode of treating him.

[Illustration:  “THEN SHE FLUNG HERSELF UPON THE SOFA.”]

On the following day Hawbury called, and was introduced to Minnie.  He chatted with her in his usual style, and Lady Dalrymple was more than ever confirmed in her first belief.  He suggested a ride, and the suggestion was taken up.